Jukebox Tales
by Silverspoon
Summary: A series of song inspired one-shots previously posted on our blog site. All Dean/Jo in nature!
1. Chapter 1

**Authors -** WelshWitch1011 and Silverspoon

 **Rating -** T for some language and inferred sexual situations

 **Synopsis -** The first in a series of vignettes based on songs from Harvelle's jukebox.

 **Pairing -** Dean/Jo

 **Disclaimer -** We do not own Supernatural, or any of the characters featured within. "You Shook Me All Night Long" is the property and work of AC/DC.

 **Authors' Note - Yep, we're back! :D**

 **This is a previously published fic** **from our New Roadhouse blog site.**

 **And for those of you who read it, we're working on an update for 'The Curse of The Winchester Women' as we speak!**

 **This is just to tide you over. ;)**

 **Enjoy, and please consider leaving a review. Except for you Ebony. We don't mean you.**

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"You Shook Me All Night Long"

xxx

The way she worked was fluid; quick, precise, and yet elegant. She had injected herself into their group without even seeming to be noticed at first, and by the time her presence had been realised, it was craved. The three dark and brooding types were hanging on her every word, lapping up her easy smile, and staring into her doe eyes.

Her fingertips brushed against the half empty wine glass, flirting with the notion of raising it to her lips, but at the last second she withdrew her hand. Usually, she drank beer; swigged it warm and straight from the bottle, but tonight she was a seductress, and low rider jeans and a bottle of Bud just didn't seem to cut it.

From the corner of the nightclub, he watched. The shadows were a welcome camouflage and he stuck to them with his customary beer in hand. The job was making him nervous and, as a result, not a single drop of liquor had passed his lips all evening. So far, he had accumulated several offers of casual 'company' from the opposite sex, and had dismissed every one with a grunt and toss of his head.

He remained oblivious to the appreciative gazes he earned from the women who passed him by; his attention was focused solely on her.

Dean found himself transfixed by the rhythmic sway of her hips as she led her prey to the dance floor and became seemingly lost in the heavy beat of the music, arms raised above her.

Jealousy settled heavy in his gut as alien hands settled around Jo's waist and the dark features of a stranger appeared behind her, pulling her against him, as he now became the aggressor in their game.

A pang of fear overcame Dean as he kept his vigil, but Jo deftly halted the man's eager hands from their destination. Her smile was coy, and a whispered promise brought a slow, lustful leer to his lips.

Rolling the rim of the bottle against his mouth, Dean watched the swaying couple, and as the stranger's kisses brushed over her neck, Jo's eyes settled intently on his own. Her perfume still lingered on the fabric of his clothes, and he breathed deeper in order to ground himself. He knew by heart the curve of her neck and the warm, soft skin he so often brushed his own lips across.

Now, however, her eyes held a warning; don't react- don't give the game away. Dean obeyed, despite every last tensely coiled nerve in his body practically shrieking at him to leap across the room and decapitate the fanged son-of-a-bitch currently trying to feel up his girl.

The song ended but Jo had been drawing her partner away from the floor and towards the exit seconds before the final chords resounded. His accomplices formed a ring around Jo, and she was careful to maintain her smile and flirtatious demeanour even as they shepherded her in the direction of the exit. The glances they exchanged were triumphant, hungry, and although Jo pretended not to notice them, to Dean her comprehension was evident.

She tugged a little on the hem of the leather mini she wore, a tacky prop from an old Halloween costume, and Dean caught a glimpse of taut, bronzed thighs. He felt a familiar not unpleasant warmth swirl around his gut, but Dean pushed away the sensation guiltily and shoved his chair back from the table.

Brushing away the hand of a passing brunette from his chest, he stalked toward the exit, following after the rapidly disappearing trio and his girlfriend.

Keeping his distance, Dean loitered in the doorway, his heart now pounding in his chest. Jo was backed against the wall of the club, the alleyway around her eerily still save for the predatory advances of three men surrounding her.

The apparent leader stepped toward her once again, his hand sliding slowly up her thigh as he leaned in as though to kiss her. Dean felt his breathing still as the man's hand drifted dangerously close to the hem of Jo's skirt.

Jo leaned forwards, the tip of her tongue darting across her lips as she gazed up at the vampire.

"Touch me, and you'll lose more than your hand," the hunter breathed, her voice husky and yet managing to convey the weight of her threat nonetheless. The three vampires exchanged glances that were uncertain at first, but which quickly gave way to amusement. They chuckled, the heavier set of the three choosing to lean across Jo with one arm pressed against her throat. She failed to react, poised and calm.

"I don't think you know quite what you're dealing with baby," the vampire murmured, brushing the tip of his nose against Jo's. Dean ached to lunge forwards, to grab the leech by the collar and end him. However, Jo would not thank him, and Dean had more respect for her than that.

"Right back at you... baby," Jo replied evenly, arching an eyebrow as her hand drifted down her body. She reached for the long knife sheathed at her thigh, barely concealed by her outfit.

The vampire smiled, torn between amusement and lust, and he trailed his finger down her neck. His eyes fluttered closed and he licked at his lips as he felt the thrum of her pulse beneath his fingertips. He smirked as the steady beat hastened at his touch, and he assumed fear had finally consumed his victim.

Dean observed closely, a machete clutched in one hand, ready to intervene as soon as Jo signalled. Licking his lips, he followed the path of her hand whilst suppressing a groan. Memories of Jo and threadbare motel rooms, gas station bathrooms and the back seat of the Impala assailed him, and Dean worked to dispel each inappropriate image conjured by Jo's simple action.

Opening his eyes slowly, the vampire saw only the glint of a blade in the moonlight, and before he had chance to react, a knee landed in his crotch and Jo was instantly freed from his grasp. He had barely recoiled when the knife sliced across the creature's throat, and his darkened eyes rolled.

The headless corpse sank to the ground, rendering the other two vampires momentarily speechless, and they stared at the petite blonde.

"Who's next?" Jo inquired, tipping her head as she stared at the surviving vampires. The second lunged at her with a growl, his fangs already beginning to slip from his upper gums in readiness. Jo grunted as she pushed herself away from the wall with one hand and spun in a pirouette that brought her just out of the vampire's reach. As the third made a grab for her, she delivered a swift elbow to his jaw before reaching into her jacket and pulling free her handgun. She fired a single round into the rear end of the second vampire, and her lips twisted into a satisfied smile as he dropped to the alley floor, screeching.

The still-mobile fang dropped to his knees and swept his foot out, knocking Jo from her feet. She landed hard, seeming to struggle to catch her breath, and Dean prepared to move forwards. However, before he could step into the fray, Jo had leapt to her feet and, although clearly still winded, the blade of her hunting knife whistled as it sliced through the air and lopped the vampire's head clean off his shoulders. Panting, Jo's gaze fell upon the remaining vampire, who was still howling as blood pooled from the gunshot wound in his buttock.

"You want to do the honours?" Jo asked breathlessly, smiling provocatively at Dean whose expression more than conveyed his admiration for the display he had witnessed.

He shrugged as his gaze befell the two headless vampire corpses and he offered up the weapon in his hand with a smile, his eyes sweeping the woman before him almost lasciviously. Jo's cheeks were flushed a deep pink, and a light sheen of perspiration covered her brow as her chest rose and fell rapidly with the exertion. Dean swallowed hard, hungrily taking in the sight of her tanned legs and the curve of her hips.

She caught the machete he tossed her with ease, feeling his eyes upon her as he remained content to simply watch, realising that her safety was no longer threatened. Testing the weight of the weapon in her hand, Jo swung her shoulder back in preparation to strike. Dean's gaze was drawn almost instantly to the line of her cleavage, and the thin cotton tank top clinging dangerously to her body; she smiled knowingly at his distraction.

"No! No!" the vampire pleaded, attempting to raise himself up onto his knees as Jo swung the machete in the air, barely flinching as the blade connected with the screaming vampire's neck.

His head hit the ground with a heavy thud, a pool of blood forming rapidly from the exposed vessels discernable from the wound. Jo grimaced for little more than a second before cleaning the edge of the blade on the fallen creature's shirt.

"We can go now," Jo said, shooting Dean a glance and a smirk that belayed her utter satisfaction as she wiped her hands on her skirt.

Dean shook his head. In several strides, he had closed the distance between them and encircled his arms around Jo's waist. They backed against the wall of the alley in unison, Dean sliding his hands up against the cool brick in order to pin Jo in place. She offered no resistance, snagging the fabric of Dean's t-shirt in a balled fist and pulling his body flush against her own. Their lips collided heatedly and Dean's hand pursued a course along the length of her thigh that, this time, Jo did not object to.

As their bodies separated, Dean broke into a grin that Jo met with a bemused responding smile.

"What?" she breathed, her eyes widening and a soft groan escaping her as Dean's fingers slid beneath the hem of her skirt.

"You just full on Buffy'd those dudes," Dean observed, licking his lips as he leaned even closer to Jo, who writhed a little in his embrace.

"I did," she answered, struggling to raise herself onto tiptoes in order to instigate another kiss. Dean resisted, pressing against Jo and cocking an eyebrow.

"It was all kinds of hot."

"Oh, yeah?!" Jo grinned, suddenly biting down on her lip and whimpering softly as his hands roamed her hip. His fingertips were rough against her skin as they slid around to cup her rear.

"Yeah," Dean smirked, seconds later emitting a low, throaty groan of his own as she ground her hips against his in response.

Jo leant up and sought out his lips, kissing him hungrily and moaning in anticipation as he began a well-rehearsed exploration of her body. His hand ventured under her shirt with a clear destination in mind.

"Dean..." she cautioned, suddenly conscious of their surroundings, and trying desperately to ignore the progress of his other hand as it explored her body.

"What?" he inquired, craning his neck and beginning to nibble at her ear lobe. He paused, nipping playfully at the skin at her throat, and sucking a little as Jo hissed in pleasure.

"Nobody's watching," Dean promised, sweeping his hand through Jo's hair and brushing it away from her face. In the dim light of the back alley, she peered up at Dean through sparkling brown eyes, her own lustful intent evident.

Jo looped her arms around Dean's neck, gasping as he grabbed her leg just beneath her knee, and hoisted it up against his side. The leather mini skirt, already indecently short, rode up further, but Jo no longer seemed to care as Dean proceeded to tease her lips with the tip of his tongue.

Half an hour later, they slipped from the alley, arm in arm, their night still young.


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors** : Silverspoon & Welshwitch1011

 **Title** : Jukebox Tales - 'Real Good Man'

 **Disclaimer** : We own nothing except fertile imaginations, and a little crush on Tim McGraw.

Here it is guys, the second part of our 'Jukebox Tales' series. We hope you like it!

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 **Real Good Man**

She watched him out of the corner of her eye, and her heartbeat picked up just a little in response. Despite the facts that the last customer had already left, the tables had been wiped down, and the bar stools stacked, Dean continued to loiter. He hovered about Jo as she flicked the switch that turned off the flashing sign that read 'Harvelle's Roadhouse' and locked the main doors.

As he continued to follow at her heels whilst she completed her nightly inspection of the bar, Jo cast him a somewhat irritated glare; he was getting under her feet, and the twelve hour shift she had just pulled alone was beginning to take a toll on her temper.

"You need help with those crates?" Dean inquired, clearing his throat as he ran his hand over the back of his neck and widened his eyes.

"No, they can stay there," Jo replied, her expression quizzical as she stared back at Dean. She wondered briefly why he had not ventured to his room when Sam had headed up almost three hours ago. However, she had not wanted to appear rude by voicing the question, and the roadhouse had been busy enough to keep her wandering mind more than occupied.

"You uh... you want a game of pool or something?" he attempted, smiling lamely as Jo stared at him askance. She stabbed one finger at the clock on the wall and Dean's smile faded.

"Dean, it's almost two in the morning, I'm pretty tired," she said, adding a soft laugh to the tail end of her protest in a poor attempt to contain her nerves.

All evening, she had felt Dean's eyes boring into her as he sat in the corner of the bar and nursed the same glass of whiskey. Since Duluth, the brothers had been more frequent visitors to the roadhouse, and each stay seemed to last longer than the previous one. Jo had tried not to over think the matter yet as she and Dean spent more time together, the banter between them grew more flirtatious just as their stolen glances grew ever more intense.

Snatching up a damp cloth, Jo strode over toward the booths and busied herself with cleaning down the nearest table for the second time since closing.

"Right." Dean nodded, jamming his hands in the pocket of his jeans as he leaned on the bar, partially blocking Jo's way. She attempted to skirt around him and sighed in frustration as he inadvertently mirrored her steps in an effort to move out of her way.

"Dean," Jo swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry as she found Dean staring down at her intently. In that moment, the feeling had all but left Jo's knees, and she gripped onto the bar in an effort to prevent them giving way beneath her.

Wincing at his sudden inability to speak, Dean cocked his head to regard her. A smile lit up his face as he became momentarily lost within the recesses of her brown eyes. "I... I uh... I just... I thought maybe..."

"Dean, it's late, I'm tired... could you save the whole 'Rain Man' routine for another night?"

"Yeah, of course," Dean answered, blinking rapidly. He straightened up and stepped to one side, clearing Jo's path to the stairs and her escape. However, Jo found her heart almost sinking as she realised that right there, could have been a moment; perhaps not one as significant as she would have liked, but a moment nonetheless.

"Dean, I..." Jo began, pushing her hair behind her ears and licking her lips nervously. Dean's hand shot out from his side and cradled Jo's chin in his palm.

"You've got the prettiest eyes..." Dean breathed. Jo's mouth almost fell open as she observed the pure sentiment behind Dean's words and the fact that, for once, his ever present and insurmountable personal wall seemed to have been lowered.

Jo took a step forward, hesitant at first, until Dean responded with a single, measured stride of his own that almost brought the couple nose to nose. Jo covered the remaining distance and, as she stared up transfixed into Dean's chiselled features, his arms somehow found their way around her waist.

In almost perfect unison, their lips inched together without ever actually making contact. Jo closed her eyes, feeling his warm breath against her skin, but the moment his lips finally pressed against hers, the sound of heavy footfalls wrenched the couple apart.

"Are you guys still up, I..." Sam interrupted, shuffling through to the bar as he rubbed his eyes and suddenly paused in an effort to process the scene before him.

"Son of a..." Dean cursed under his breath, watching in exasperation as Sam's timely interruption caused Jo's head to drop in embarrassment, and a deep pink flush rose up her cheeks.

"Sorry you guys," Sam winced, guessing by the murderous glare Dean was currently shooting in his direction that he may soon regret the consequences of his interruption.

"I should head up to bed," Jo stammered, ducking her head as she shot Dean a smile and then tried her hardest to avoid Sam's gaze. Seconds later, she could be heard retreating upstairs to her bedroom at speed, and Dean folded his arms across his chest and arched an eyebrow in distinct irritation at his sibling.

"You and Jo, huh?" Sam asked, although his question verged more on a statement. Nodding his head, he wasn't able to suppress the knowing, slightly smug smile that twitched at his lips as he watched Dean shrug.

Starting upstairs, Dean muttered angrily, "Shut up, Sammy."

x-x-x-x

Jo grabbed the bottle of tequila and attempted to fill the shot glass that sat on the bar top before her. Unfortunately, in her present inebriated state, Jo was finding it difficult to discern which of the several glasses that swam in and out of her focus were the real one. As a result, she tipped the almost empty bottle up only to pour a good quantity of the alcohol onto the counter itself.

"Damn it," Jo grumbled, her tone thoroughly dejected. Miserably, she ran the tip of her index finger through the puddle of liquor she had created, and then popped it into her mouth.

It had been two weeks since what Jo liked to refer to as 'the incident' with Dean had occurred. The following morning, she had awoken to find the Impala and both Winchesters gone, and a hastily scrawled note tacked to the refrigerator. Jo's heart had sunk immediately upon seeing the three small words Dean had left her with; "I'll call you."

After a week had elapsed with unsurprisingly no word from either Sam or Dean, Jo's sorrow had turned to full blown anger, and she had allowed herself to be coerced by a group of hunters into a rare night out in a neighbouring town. There, she had met Todd; the son of a wealthy factory owner who was apparently a leading figure in the world of concrete production.

Though not remotely interested in forgetting herself in the arms of another man, Jo had tentatively agreed to go on a date with Todd. Dinner at a local restaurant had been pleasant, if not a mildly boring affair, and when he had tried to kiss her at the end of the evening, she had made her excuses and promptly ducked inside the doorway of the roadhouse.

She had of course noted the intrigued yet disdainful gaze he had bestowed upon her childhood home, and she had filed it away as yet another reason this brief flirtation would come to nothing. She had resolved to give him the obligatory 'this isn't going to work out' speech the next time she saw him and thought little more about the whole situation.

Nine days after their rather sudden departure, Jo finally received word from Sam and Dean, stating that they were hunting a changeling in Indiana and would be returning to the roadhouse when they were through. The news that they were there helping out an ex- conquest of Dean's was far less well received.

Consequently, despite an only mild attraction, and a list of reasons as long as her arm as to why they were simply not compatible, Jo had agreed to a second date with Todd. An act which now, in hind site, she realised had been entirely ill-advised.

"Lisa..." Jo rolled her eyes at the name, and she glared with misplaced anger at her glass, downing the shot with a grimace.

Becoming vaguely aware of the sound of footfalls in the doorway, Jo held up her hand and shouted in a slur toward the offending intruder, "We're closed!"

"Well I can see that," a familiar, husky voice drawled from the doorway. Jo immediately sat up a little straighter and, with the action, almost toppled herself off the barstool. Attempting to muster as much dignity as she had left, Jo turned to regard the Winchester brothers as they stood upon the threshold of the roadhouse, bags in hand and wearing identical expressions of amusement.

"Get out..." Jo directed, sniffing as she turned away from the hunters and affixed her watery gaze upon the glass.

She noted that the bottle in front of her was now empty and, somewhat impatiently, began to wait for the brothers to leave before she attempted to retrieve another one.

"Maybe we should go," Sam suggested, touching one hand to Dean's arm in warning. Dean shrugged off Sam's hand and shook his head, attempting to hide the smirk that played fleetingly across his lips.

"Ellen said we could stay Sammy, and it's another two hours drive to the nearest motel," Dean said, arching an eyebrow as he stared at Jo, "we stay. If the princess over there is still pissy tomorrow, I guess we can leave then."

"Fine," Sam sighed, rolling his eyes as he strolled into the roadhouse and breezed straight through to the back. Offering Jo a wary smile, Sam disappeared from sight, leaving Dean and the drunkenly swaying blonde hunter in solitude.

"Okay then," Dean said, his tone patronising, "I think someone's had enough."

"You're not my mother..." Jo protested, hopping down from her perch on the stool and almost sinking to the floor as one foot became hampered by the other. Cursing under her breath, Jo finally managed to coax her feet into obeying her, and ambled behind the bar to locate another bottle of tequila. Dean watched in silence, arms folded across his broad chest.

"Speaking of, where is she?" he inquired, stepping into the bar and closing the door behind him, "I'm guessing she's out of town since you're down here in the wee small hours drinking away her profits."

"She's gone to a wholesalers, she'll be back Tuesday," Jo managed to relay, leaning unsteadily on the bar as she rested her head on her arms and sighed.

"So what's with the bottle of tequila?" Dean asked, smiling wryly as he located a second, half empty bottle beside her arm and promptly corrected himself, "bottles of tequila."

"Like you care," Jo scoffed, wiping away a renegade tear that she had been trying her up-most to keep at bay.

"You know I do," he seemed vaguely hurt, and sat down next to her on the neighbouring barstool, as she glanced up at him derisively and snorted.

"Yeah, right," she exclaimed, her jaw tensing in anger as she went to pour another drink and found her hand being restrained by Dean's.

"Jo... seriously, you're gonna feel like ass in the morning if you keep this up," he warned, smiling as he added, "I speak from experience."

"In all areas," she muttered, ignoring the quizzical frown she received in reply.

"Come on, let's get you into bed... I mean, up to bed," he recovered quickly, attempting to manoeuvre her off of the bar stool with a gentle hand of encouragement.

"Ow, Dean," she exclaimed suddenly, wincing as she peered down at her reddened, swollen hand with a suitably petulant pout.

"You been throwing punches again, Harvelle?" Dean narrowed his eyes, recognising the pattern of bruises on her hand that could only have come from aiming a blow at something, or someone.

"Todd," she murmured irritably, groaning at the memory of her ill-fated love affair.

"What's a 'Todd'?" Dean asked suspiciously, suddenly hit with the realisation that he might not like where Jo's story was headed. A pang of jealousy began to rise up from his gut, but he tried to muster a nonchalant expression.

"Just some guy I was dating," Jo shrugged, closing her eyes at the wave of nausea that suddenly overcame her. She sat up straighter in her seat, watching the bar swirl in kaleidoscope like patterns.

"Wait, what?" Dean blinked, putting his hand over the rim of her shot glass as she moved to refill it.

"A guy I was dating," Jo repeated, rolling her eyes and sighing as Dean seized both the glass and the bottle, then peered at her in abject confusion.

"Well... when in the hell did all this happen?" he demanded, "we're gone, what? Ten days, and now you're playing 'Romeo and Juliet' with some assbutt named 'Todd'?"

"You have a good time at Lisa's?" Jo countered evenly, and she arched an eyebrow as she folded her arms across her chest; a gesture that would have been considerably more threatening had she not also been swaying.

"What?" Dean shook his head as if not comprehending how the two could possibly be related, "what's that got to do with anything?"

Jo let out a shriek of exasperation and clambered down from the stool. "Are you dense, Winchester?" she demanded, her eyes blazing.

Dean took a second to consider the accusation and then shrugged. "Apparently. So you wanna fill me in sweetheart? Because you and the worm here stopped making sense about five minutes ago."

He gestured to the liquor bottle and promptly tossed it in the crate of empties.

"Never mind," Jo grumbled, suddenly backing down from the argument. Dean gaped at her, shaking his head as he slipped the shot glass under the bar counter.

"Ok, well, bedtime," Dean ordered, ignoring Jo's loud protests as he suddenly swept her up into his arms and headed towards the stairs.

"I can walk," Jo practically snarled, clearly having difficulty in focusing on Dean's features despite her outrage. She added as a quiet afterthought, "I don't feel so good."

Dean winced, quickening his pace as he climbed the stairs in order to reach the top that much sooner. When they finally reached the darkened hallway, Jo's head was resting against his chest. Dean kicked the door of the room he knew to be her bedroom open and flicked the light switch with his elbow.

Bright light flooded the room, throwing into focus an evidently home-made patchwork quilt, and a collection of stuffed teddy bears lining a chest of drawers. Dean's eyes were drawn instantly to the bears, but he bit back a sarcastic comment and the smirk that threatened to overcome him. Carefully, he laid Jo on the bed and began working to remove her boots. The hunter simply lay there for a moment, uncharacteristically quiet, and when Dean glanced up to ensure her well being, he was met with the sight of Joanna Harvelle silently crying. Dean's heart hammered to a halt in his chest, and he found himself thoroughly disconcerted.

"Guess you really liked this Todd, huh?" he asked softly, sitting on the edge of her bed and shooting her a sympathetic smile. Jo shook her head and hid her face in her hands.

"No," she sniffled, not seeing the thoroughly confused expression that rapidly settled on his features.

Dean went to speak, but then fell silent and when he finally managed to find the words they did little more than induce further weeping from Jo's direction.

"So then why did you date the guy?" he asked, clearly not understanding when a further series of sobs racked her body.

"Because of you," she managed, rubbing at her eyes as she tried to stem further tears. Letting Dean know he had gotten to her had never been part of her plan; although any coherent thoughts had admittedly gone out of her head after the fourth or fifth shot.

"Me?" he shook his head, gently prising her hands away from her face and edging that little bit closer to her, "look Jo, I can be blamed for a lot of things...but you and this...Todd?"

He wrinkled his nose derisively, unable to help himself from demanding, "What the hell kind of name is Todd?"

"I'm so stupid," Jo groaned, turning her head into her pillow as she avoided his gaze in order to salvage any last traces of self-respect she could, "I thought... I thought you and I were... ughh, I don't know what I thought."

Dean frowned as he nodded in agreement, "I kind of thought we were too."

Silence settled upon them, until Jo leant up on her elbows and stared at him in disbelief, "What?"

Dean fidgeted at the intensity of her stare and he cleared his throat as he found her eyes still affixed upon his.

"I thought..." Dean began, uncertainty evident in his tone, "well, I kind of figured you and I were headed for something. Guess I was wrong, huh?!"

"Ughh!" Jo yelled, throwing the pillow over her head as she released a muffled threat, "Dean Winchester, I could kill you!"

He ignored her threat and stood from the bed, heading to the bathroom adjoined to her room. He returned moments later with a glass of water, which he pressed into Jo's hand.

"Huh?" he finally managed as Jo sipped at the water, and succeeded in spilling half of the glass down her front before she rested it on the nightstand.

"You!" she hissed, suddenly sitting bolt upright and affixing Dean with a murderous stare. "You show up here with your damn shiny car and your... your damn tight jeans, and your…cassette collection and you save the world."

Her tone ended up somewhere between wondrous and accusing, and Dean found himself stumped to keep up. Suddenly, Jo jabbed a finger into the centre of his chest and her tirade began again.

"You're all charming and handsome and... dangerous... and you make me like you," she accused, eyes narrowing as though the impassioned speech made perfect sense to her own mind. "And then when I think, 'hey, here's a good guy... a real nice guy who'll look past the bar, and my mother, and the shotgun collection'... you get in your stupid car in your stupid jeans with your stupid brother and you go running to save Lisa... stupid... Lisa..."

"It was her son, actually, but..." Dean began, falling silent once again as she released another shrill, squeal of anger.

"I thought you liked me, okay?" she added quietly, picking at the pattern on the comforter beneath her, "and not like a little sister, not like some schoolgirl who has a crush on you... I thought... You know what? It's late, never mind."

Although the prospect of escaping the present conversation was appealing, Dean forced himself to stay and straighten out the confusion that had managed to pass between them.

"Jo... nothing happened between me and Lisa," Dean shook his head, as if the idea had never so much as crossed his mind, "it's not like that. Her son was in trouble, she needed help. That's all there was to it... although do I want to know what happened between you and Todd?"

"Nothing," she replied simply, taking a further gulp of water and rubbing her hand over her forehead at the headache rapidly forming.

"Aspirin?" Dean questioned, glancing around her room.

"Night stand... top drawer," she relayed, lying back against the pillows and groaning at her own stupidity.

"So... why'd you hit the guy?" Dean asked, his features suddenly clouding over in suspicion as he reached into the drawer beside him and rummaged around for the bottle of pain killers.

"He wanted to be friends," Jo replied, pausing in order to swallow the pills that Dean offered her. Dean affixed her with a frown and arched an eyebrow.

"Ok, little harsh on your part, Jo." Dean stated, trailing off as Jo chuckled and shook her head.

"Special friends... friends that have sleepovers..." she said dryly, shaking her head as Dean stared back at her askance. "Apparently I'm not the type of girl he'd like to take home to Mom, but I'll do for scratching his Saturday night itch in the backseat of his car. He put the moves on, and so I hit him."

Dean glowered, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as he ground his teeth together.

"Okay," Dean nodded, as if about to stand from the bed, "now I wanna punch him."

"Dean..." Jo sighed, rolling her eyes and managing a brief smile as she placed her hand on his wrist in a restraining gesture, "I think I punched him hard enough for the both of us."

"Yeah? Well good," Dean growled, slipping his wrist slowly from Jo's grasp so that he could tentatively curl his fingers around hers.

"And he's a loser... you're worth better than that Jo," he murmured, watching his thumb begin to brush hesitant circles across her palm, "any guy who's with you should know what a lucky son of a bitch he is."

"Was that a compliment, Dean Winchester?" Jo inquired with a playful smile, rubbing once again at her forehead as she willed the Aspirin to begin to take effect soon.

"Just being honest," he shrugged, avoiding her eyes and clearing his throat as he spurred himself to continue, "and I do like you, Jo... I like you a lot. And for the record, I've never thought of you as my little sister, or a schoolgirl. I don't even know where you got that idea into your head. You think I'd go around kissing my sister? This isn't 'Deliverance', sweetheart."

He smiled, trying to lighten the moment and she grinned in response, momentarily forgetting the insistent swirling in her stomach.  
"You never did kiss me," Jo said suddenly, a cunning smile creeping in place across her lips. Dean peered down at her, returning her smile with a mischievous glint present in his eye.

"I guess I didn't," Dean agreed. Jo opened her mouth to respond, but Dean closed the gap between them and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was fevered and hungry, and Dean's palms slid up Jo's back until his fingers entangled in her hair.

As Jo began to drag Dean down on top of her, her hands moving down his chest and towards his belt, Dean shook his head and finally broke their clinch. Jo stared at him, embarrassment, hurt and shame playing across her features quickly.

"It's not that I don't want to," Dean explained, panting somewhat in an effort to control himself, "God knows... I want to..."

"What then?" Jo demanded, almost pouting now as she stared at Dean, still revelling in the kiss that had lived up to every expectation she had ever had.

Dean shrugged self-consciously, and an embarrassed blush coloured his cheeks, "Well, at the risk of sounding like a total girl, or ya know- Sam- I just don't want it to be like this with you and me. I want it to be something more, you know?!"

Jo appeared to think this over for a moment and then nodded in agreement.  
"Okay," she whispered, caressing his jaw with her fingertips. A tender smile graced her features. Dean's lips twitched in amusement as Jo flopped back against her pillows with what now sounded to be a contented sigh.

"If you need anything, I'll be down the hall," he said as he ushered Jo beneath her quilt and pulled it up around her chin. She gazed up at him through red and swollen eyes, and Dean felt a stab of guilt pierce his heart as he realised that his inadequacy at expressing his feelings had been the reason for her sorrow.

"I'll even hold your hair back whilst you puke," Dean offered, only half joking as he debated the state that Jo would undoubtedly be in by the time morning came.

"You're a good man, Dean Winchester," Jo murmured, her words slurring into each other and her eyes fluttering closed, the tequila now clearly taking effect on her body. Dean leaned forwards and brushed her lips with his own in a tender, goodnight kiss that he hoped would be the first of many.

"Goodnight," Dean whispered, pausing in the doorway for a moment as he watched Jo, who had already succumbed to thick, heavy sleep.

A small, serene smile adorned Jo's lips as she slept, and Dean couldn't deny the tug he felt at his heart as he watched her.

Dean closed the door softly and, as he crept to his room, he replayed her words in his head.

She had said he was a good man; and Dean knew beyond doubt that Jo Harvelle deserved no less.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Hey, Jude

 **Rating:** K+

 **Disclaimer:** We own nothing!

 **Synopsis:** Third part of our 'Jukebox Tales' series. AU Season 5/6.

* * *

 **Hey Jude**

There was nothing left, and his time was up; the last grain of sand had slipped through the hourglass, and although Dean Winchester had averted the apocalypse, in so many other respects he had failed. Sammy was gone, and from head to toe Dean was numb. Not the delicious lack of feeling that comes from consuming too much liquor on an empty stomach, but the kind of paralysis that occurs when you are standing in the ruins of your life, and everything you care for has been stripped from you. Well, almost everything.

For several hours, he and Bobby had sat in that damned field, simply staring in silence at the patch of ground where Sam had disappeared. After allowing Dean to wallow in shock and the mire of his own guilt until dusk had fallen, Bobby had finally decided that the time for action had come. Dean barely recalled the old man hauling him to his feet, cajoling and gently coaxing him towards his car, and the soothing promises of a hot meal and warm bed that awaited him back at the scrap yard. However, he remembered with perfect clarity the punch he had landed to Bobby's left eye, and the quarrel that had ensued not a minute afterwards.

The two hunters had yelled and screamed for all their worth, Dean maintaining that he was not about to choke down a burger and take a nap when Sammy still needed him, and Bobby demanding to know when Dean would finally be wise enough to realise that when folks were gone, that was generally the way they stayed. Not several seconds afterwards they had parted ways, the tyres of the Impala screeching and throwing up clods of mud as Bobby ran after Dean's retreating headlights, calling out pleas that fell on ultimately deaf ears.

Then, Dean simply drove. For hours, he circled the back roads, avoiding the glaring lights of the highway that seemed too alive to really be comfortable for him at present. With no destination in mind, no passenger for company, no characteristic rock music blaring from the stereo, and no hope, Dean simply drove.

That was, until he had almost wrapped the front end of the Impala around a tree, as his eyes slipped closed in a betrayal of just how exhausted his body and mind really were. Then, Dean had pulled over into the cover of some dense foliage at the side of the road, deciding that whilst committing suicide in his beloved baby would be poetic, it would most certainly go against the promise that he had made to his brother only hours beforehand.

The gentle touch of a hand drifting across his forehead awoke him with a start, and Dean blinked against the confusion that settled upon him as he found himself staring up into impossibly blue eyes. Shaking his head vigorously, Dean swallowed, suddenly reeling back from the woman now sitting beside him.

"It's okay. It's okay, baby," she soothed, peering down at him with concern clouding her expression.

"Mom?" he breathed, watching as she nodded, and an undeniably sad smile settled across her face.

"What are you doing out here, Dean?" She shook her head, surveying her first born with her brow furrowed, and her lips pulled into a disapproving frown.

"Sam... Sam's gone," he stammered, blinking as tears began to descend from his eyes, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I couldn't save him. I..."

"Shhhh," Mary murmured, her fingers brushing against the hollow of Dean's cheek as he screwed his eyes closed.

"I- I don't know what to do," Dean whispered, his voice cracking and his bottom lip trembling as he fought to prevent a further onslaught of tears. His breath hitched in his chest and he would have released an audible sob were it not for the pair of arms that encircled him in a motherly embrace.

"You make this better," Mary said softly, her lips brushing the crown of Dean's head as she rocked him gently, "you take all the hurt and the pain, and you make it into something good, you hear me Dean? Don't let this all be for nothing."

Dean shook his head, his face buried in the fabric of the his mother's white shirt, which had become stained with his tears.

"I have nothing..." croaked Dean, pulling away from Mary's embrace and regarding her with an oddly impassive expression. "I don't even have a place to go."

Mary shot him a look, that Dean assumed from his limited memories of the woman was her patented 'cut the bullshit' stare. Blinking in surprise, he watched as she crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to one side.

"You know that's not true," she replied, tossing her shoulder length blonde curls almost derisively. Dean shook his head, turning to stare out of the windscreen and at the stars that permeated the night sky.

"Bobby?" Dean demanded with a disdainful snort. "Right... a scrapyard, an old drunk, and a lumpy mattress. Great."

"Bobby loves you... both of you boys like you were his own," Mary chided, a smile replacing her scowl as she thought with affection upon the man whom she had never in fact met, but who had so readily stepped up to the role of surrogate parent to her children.

However, Mary's expression grew sombre as she added, "But I didn't mean him."

Dean simply stared at her in silence, understanding her inference, but not wanting to discuss the subject any further.

"I can't do that, Mom," he replied, his jaw set as he shook his head resolutely.

"Your brother wanted you to be happy," Mary urged with a sad smile as she added, "and I want that for you, more than anything. That's all I ever wanted for you and Sam... but you have to grab on to happiness when you can, Dean. Don't let it slip through your fingers. You have a place to go, you have somebody who loves you... don't let this chance pass you by."

"I can't," Dean remained steadfast in his resolve, and he avoided his mother's gaze in favour of staring at the dash of the Impala, willing the lump forming in his throat to disappear.

"Because you're afraid," she stated, through her tone was not unkind or accusing.

Dean smiled miserably, fighting further tears as he eventually nodded, reaching out and grabbing at her hand as he held it against his jaw, "I can't lose somebody else, Mom. Everybody... everybody I love gets hurt. You, Dad... and now Sammy. I- I can't lose her too. I can't put her at risk, she- she's safer without me in her life."

He peered up at Mary through his tears, and instantly her heart began to ache for her son.

"I used to say that me and your Dad were fated," Mary revealed, leaning back against her seat and pulling Dean's body into her lap. It barely mattered that he was over twice her size, he still seemed to fit so perfectly and snugly against her, as he had always done as a child. Now he was grown however, Mary's job was far from over, and the comfort of a mother's touch was something she had rarely had the chance to give.

"Boy did we hate each other when we met," she whispered, a husky chuckle spilling from her lips as Dean shot her a surprised glance, "that man really knew how to get on my last nerve."

"For real?" Dean pressed, his nose scrunched up in surprise as he regarded Mary, who bobbed her head in quick confirmation.

"Oh yeah," she breathed, her eyes flitting upwards for the briefest of moments, almost as though she were shooting John himself a glance, "then one day, I finally saw him for what he really was; a brave man with a good heart, capable of incredible love. And, I guess he had a certain goofy quality that was kind of charming."

Dean smiled, remaining quiet as he considered his mother's words, and reflected upon the far from perfect yet steadfast relationship that his parents had shared. Many times throughout Dean and Sam's childhood, John had revealed that he would have taken Mary's place in a heartbeat that fateful night, and Dean had grown up never once doubting the words of the man who had been smitten by love and near destroyed by grief.

"But what we had... it's nothing compared to what you could have," Mary continued, ignoring the shocked look that Dean bestowed upon her. It was evident that he wished to bury the matter at hand, but there was no way that Mary was going to let it rest until her piece had been said.

"You were made for each other, Dean."

"No," Dean snapped, shaking his head but making no move to back away from his mother despite his anger. "The minute I let her under my skin... that's when I'll get her killed, Mom."

Mary shook her head, eyes sparkling with fresh tears as she replied, "No sweetheart, that's the moment it all gets better. When everything makes sense again... when you can let all of this go."

Her eyes swept the inside of the Impala, and the desolate road outside, surrounded by throngs of twisted trees and overgrown brush. It was then that Dean realised he had pulled the car over just a few metres shy of a crossroads, and a sudden nausea overcame him. The inference behind Mary's words was evident, and Dean blanched under the weight of her stare.

"Maybe I don't want to let it all go... I have responsibilities," he choked out, unwilling to go quietly, and dragging up every last excuse his frazzled mind could lay claim to in the darkness.

Mary sighed, heavy hearted at her son's refusal to act upon his feelings, and also at the weight he continued to carry on his shoulders. The guilt and grief at the life she had doomed her children to constantly ate away at her and, as she watched over them from a place so far from their horrifying reality, the extent of the burdens placed upon them almost from birth bore heavily on her soul. If there was even the remotest possibility that Dean could now find some shred of happiness, Mary was adamant that she would not allow him to throw it away.

She nodded unwillingly, squaring her own jaw, "Alright. Then you'll have someone to share the responsibility..."

"No," Dean said vehemently, interrupting his mother in a desperate tone, "it's not her fight. I can't do that to her... I won't doom her to this life. I can't watch her die, Mom. She's got a chance at a normal life, I won't take that away from her."

"Does she even get a choice in this?" Mary demanded, leaning forwards slightly, her arms folded in the traces of a confrontational gesture.

"No, she doesn't." Dean's tone rang with such finality that Mary blinked in surprise.

Mary finally let out a dry chuckle, and Dean glared at her with unchecked anger.

"You're a fool, Dean, as stubborn as your damn father," Mary barked, allowing Dean just a glimpse of her natural ferocity. He swallowed, and sagged back against his seat, massaging his brow with the palm of his hand.

Mary's tone softened, "You're making things so much worse for yourself, honey."

The two regarded each other in silence for a moment, the gentle chirruping of the crickets outside the only sound to pierce the night air. Slowly, Mary's hand came to rest on his knee. She squeezed his leg gently, and watched as the resolve began to melt away from behind his green eyes.

"Don't let me down, Dean... go get her," she encouraged, her voice adopting an almost musical quality as it became affected by her excitement. "Do what your Daddy never could, and stop looking around the corner for trouble. If it's there, it'll find you soon enough."

"Mom, I can't..." Dean whispered, looking so lost and alone that Mary immediately gathered him back up into her arms without a moments hesitation.

"Yes, you can," she said firmly, lowering her mouth to his ear as she whispered, "make me proud."

"I can't," Dean repeated, his tone laced with sadness and defeat, "I love her too much, Mom."

Mary smiled, ruffling his hair just as she had done when he had been a little boy, and she replied in a voice that left him little room for further argument, "Well, then you love her too much to be without her."

Dean closed his eyes, sighing miserably as he tried to find a suitable response. However, deep down he knew his mother's words to be true.

"I miss you," he choked out, reliving a hundred childhood memories at the scent of her perfume that evoked so much sadness, and yet also a sense of comfort and safety he had long ago forgotten.

"I miss you too, baby. But I'm never far away," she promised, pressing a kiss to his forehead and staring down at him with painful regret.

"Keep the promise you made to your brother," she implored, her blue eyes focusing intently on his. "Go to her, Dean... be happy."

Dean nodded slowly, giving in to his brother and mother's demand but also to the yearning in his heart,as he decided to take a chance- to find the happiness that thus far had alluded him.

Mary's voice seemed to drift further and further from his ear, and a gentle 'I love you' were the final words Dean Winchester heard before the blaring horn of a passing truck startled him awake.

Sitting up straight in the driver's seat, Dean panted, trying to process his muddied thoughts as he rubbed at his eyes. The radio station crackled and hissed quietly, and it took a few moments for him to recognise the song playing in the background; the chorus of 'Hey, Jude' suddenly caught his attention.

Dean batted clumsily at his cheek as a single tear descended from his eyes and he thought for just a moment that his mother's perfume lingered in the air around him.

 **x-x-x**

Jo gazed idly out of the window, her eyes drawn to the site of the birds that hopped around the lawn, pecking the ground in their search for food. Pushing away the plate of untouched pasta before her, Jo let out a sigh.

The last few days, her thoughts had never been far from Dean and Sam Winchester, and the call her mother had received just hours ago from a frantic Bobby had both of them worried. Sam was gone and Dean, well, he was as stable and well-functioning as anyone who had just lost the very last thing in the world they cared about could be expected to be.

"You have to eat, Jo," Ellen chided, resting a hand on Jo's shoulder as she swept by the breakfast bar and began clearing her own untouched dinner into the garbage disposal.

"You think he's ok?" Jo murmured, propping her chin in her hands as she watched her mother work.

Ellen let out a breath, and squared her shoulders in the way she had always done when she was trying particularly hard to convince Jo of one thing or another.

"I think he's a big boy..." Ellen began diplomatically, uncertain of how best to proceed and answer Jo's question without directly lying. "Bobby will find him soon enough, sweetie."

Jo nodded, although obviously unconvinced, and joined Ellen as she busied herself with clearing off the plates into the garbage disposal. Rinsing the dishes under the faucet, Jo scrubbed at the china, her thoughts drifting to the whereabouts of Dean Winchester.

Becoming so immersed in her musings, Jo did not hear the uncertain knocking at the door, nor the hushed conversation that ensued between her mother and their visitor.

"Jo?" Ellen called out, walking back into the kitchen and loitering in the doorway, "there's uh... there's someone here to see you."

"Hey, Jo."

Her eyes widened instantly upon hearing the all too familiar voice, and she dropped the plate in her hands, blinking as it clattered against the bottom of the sink and sent a wave of water and suds up over the edge of the counter.

Turning around uncertainly, Jo's breath caught in her chest as she stared up at the face of a clearly exhausted and broken Dean.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked, taking a few steps toward her and blinking in evident surprise as she closed the remaining distance between them and threw her arms around his neck.

Jo did not bother with unnecessary questions; any such inquiries seemed ridiculous given recent events. Dean closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around her and holding onto her tightly, as Ellen whispered her excuses and left them alone.

From the corner of the kitchen, unseen, Mary Winchester watched as Dean's head dropped to Jo's shoulder, his lips twisted into a grimace of almost physical pain, and finally he broke down.

They stood for some time locked in their embrace, Jo whispering gentle words of comfort and stroking Dean's hair as he wept soundlessly, opening up in such a way that Mary knew things with Jo would be so very different to what Dean had been used to. When they finally broke apart, Dean collapsed at the table and Jo brewed a pot of coffee, all the while listening to him pour out his suffering with her hands encasing his own.

Nodding her head in approval, Mary bestowed one final satisfied, yet saddened smile upon her son, and disappeared in a flash of white light, knowing that for Dean at least, things were about to get better.

* * *

 **That's it for now, but there _will_ be more. We pinky swear.**


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